


To Vermont and back

by rromantic



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rromantic/pseuds/rromantic
Summary: Timeline is S2. Brian gets a special invitation.





	To Vermont and back

**Monday morning  
Air Liberty 0241  
Pittsburgh, PA to Burlington, VT**

_Dijon’s PoV_

He's cute and adorable in a very hot way, and I watch excitedly as the young man walks down the boarding passage towards me. I wasn’t awarded ‘Service of the year’ for nothing, and I know just how I can ensure he enjoys everything the warm hospitality of Liberty Air is so well-known for.

I wait for him with my most seductive smile, but then he reaches me, and my enthusiasm falters when I see him up close. I immediately switch channels on the in-flight entertainment I had planned for him. It’s definitely a career-limiting move to go over and beyond the call of duty when one’s passenger is still a teenager.

He is wearing a tight-fitting, orange T-shirt with '69' (God, I _hate_ false advertising) printed on the front, and I guess him to be about 16 years old. Blue eyes blink rapidly at me, accompanied by a wobbly smile, and unexpectedly my heart constricts. No one should be this young, this beautiful, and look so terribly dejected.

I welcome him onboard with my usual grace, lead him to his seat in the front of the aircraft (seat 1A, reserved for one Mr. Justin Taylor), stow his carry-on in the overhead compartment, and offer him something to drink. He turns away towards the window for a moment, but I don’t miss the muffled sniff. His eyes, the color of the sky at 10,000 feet, are bright in all the wrong ways when he looks at me again. Politely, with almost a whisper, he asks for mineral water with a slice of lemon.

His order is easy to get and I’m back in minutes, only to find him leaning with his elbow on the window sill, fingers pressed into tightly screwed-shut eyes. God, he looks so fucking miserable. I put his water and a packet of peanuts on the tray of the empty seat next to him, trying desperately to think of something I have onboard that might cheer him up. One of my fabulous blow jobs is sure to do it, even if he is underage. However, there is no doubt in my mind a man is behind all of this, and he doesn’t look like the type that typically resolves his problems by thrusting his cock down a stranger’s throat.

I don’t even consider drawing him out with my usual charm of practiced chit-chat. Besides it being fairly obvious that he’s on his way to snow and _fun_ in Vermont, I have no desire to intrude. I’m not the one able to remove the cloak of despair he neglected to take off and check at the door.

The flight is busy, and it's only after breakfast is served that I have time to check on him. He doesn’t notice me, since the blond head is resting against the window again, cheeks wet and eyes unfocused on the clouds drifting by outside. In his lap is an open artist's sketchpad. His hand is in the way, but I can see enough to know the drawing is exceptional, and his subject matter fabulously beautiful. The only part of him moving is his fingers. Slowly, he caresses the contours of the drawn face with an accuracy that can only come from being intimately familiar with whoever is on that piece of paper.

Without a word, I bring him more water and a handful of Kleenex. He startles when I place it on the tray, and gives me a broken smile coupled with an embarrassed 'thank you.' Looking apologetic, he gestures to his eyes and adds something about allergies.

I squeeze his shoulder before rushing off to find some Kleenex for myself. I'm also allergic to losing someone I love.

\---

**Wednesday evening  
Pittsburgh  
Outside Babylon**

Brian exhales slowly, watching the cigarette smoke spiral as it mingles with the frigid night air.

Of course, Justin had no way of knowing when he would be back from Chicago. There had been no reason to assume he would have been waiting at the loft. Or that he should have.

Brian refuses to acknowledge the unfamiliar twist in his gut at seeing the empty apartment for what it was: disappointment.

Jesus. They’ve only been apart two days and Justin is all he thinks about. Annoyed at himself, he tosses the cigarette, which dies almost instantly as it hits the slippery pavement. Burying his hands deep in his Gucci coat pockets, he hurriedly crosses the street.

“Look who it is!” Michael’s face lights up when he catches sight of Brian sneaking up behind them. His enthusiastic greeting is followed closely by a ‘Hey you, stranger!’ in typical Emmett fashion.

“The face looks familiar…” 

Brian rolls his eyes at Ted, but can’t keep himself from smirking, or interrupting. “Shut the fuck up.”

“…unfortunately the voice sounds the same.” 

“When did you get back?” Michael leans over for a kiss.

“A few hours ago. Where’s Justin?”

Ted makes a gleeful sound, quickly followed by a shrug and an innocent ‘what?’ look on his face when Emmett gives him a withering glare.

Impatiently, Brian moves to look past Michael up the steps leading into the club. “Where is he? I’ve got big news.” Scanning the crowd, he suddenly realizes the group has gone awkwardly silent.

“He went to Vermont,” Michael says, taken aback by Brian’s unexpected question. Of all people, Brian should know Justin’s every move... not that he will ever admit to having that type of interest in his non-partner.

Brian laughs incredulously, too shocked to hide his surprise. Justin went… what the _fuck_?

“Snowboarding,” Emmett adds slowly, as a concerned frown knots between his eyebrows.

Brian turns away from Michael’s worried eyes, his head bent down and his face hidden, as he concentrates on his numb fingers trying to work the lighter. “Alone?” Fuck, it’s cold.

Emmett and Michael quickly glance at each other, silently agreeing that Michael should do the talking from here on. 

“Alone.”

“So, what’s the big news?” Ted sounds way too indifferent and happy for Emmett’s liking, who can just imagine how terribly disappointed Brian must be, and subsequently earns himself another scalding glare.

Brian doesn't answer immediately, playing for time until he can be sure his voice will work past the sudden constriction in his throat. “Nothing.”

The cigarette finally starts glowing, in spite of his hands shaking badly. _Fuck, it’s so cold_. He leaves his hurricane-hit group of friends without a backward glance.

There is no one here that he wants.

\---

**Wednesday evening  
Pittsburgh  
The loft**

He was so eager to be with Justin that he missed it when he first got home earlier, even though it was propped in plain sight.

Finding the loft empty, he stormed off to Babylon, sure Justin would be with the boys. But then Michael told him Justin was gone, and now nothing matters anymore. Except to forget and move on, and to do so he needs help, and a lot of it. The kind of help offered by his special friends in the bar he keeps for days just like this, when everything has gone to shit and he doesn’t even feel like fucking.

And that’s where the note’s waiting.

‘Meet me in Vermont.’

Brian reads the single line again, his blood boiling. The arrogant little shit… Did Justin really think he could snap fingers at him? That he would run after Justin’s _little blond boy ass_ like some schoolgirl with a crush?

Swearing, he crumples the paper and air ticket and hurls them across the room, quickly followed by whatever is close enough for him to take his anger out on. The sound of breaking glass stuns him, and he cringes at the scene of destruction that seconds ago was still the overly neat loft.

That was his favorite ashtray.

“Fuck you, Sunshine," he whispers into the sudden silence, his voice hoarse. "Fuck you for having my balls.”

\---

**Wednesday night  
Air Liberty 0246  
Pittsburgh, PA to Burlington, VT**

_Dijon’s PoV_

I recognize him immediately, and a rush of excitement surges through me. I will forever have fond memories of the time Brian spent in my ass.

"Mustard," he nods in greeting, and I laugh. I've been called, and introduced myself, as ‘Dijon, like the mustard,’ many times, but just ‘Mustard’ is a first.

I lead him to his seat and wait until he moves over to the window before I place his laptop bag on the seat next to him. "The usual, sir?" I flirt. ‘The usual’ for the Brian Kinneys of this world includes a wide variety of special treatments. After all, a first class ticket is expensive, and it is important that they feel they’re getting their money’s worth. Especially on the long red-eye flights, when weary businessmen board late at night after having been in meetings for the entire day. The cabin usually settles down quickly after takeoff, which leaves me with more than two hours to help my most stressed out passengers relax.

But Brian either doesn’t get my not so subtle offer, or simply ignores it. In reply, he just makes some sound I take as ‘yes, please,’ and more than a bit disappointed, I make my way to the kitchen to prepare his double Beam, neat. 

It’s true then, what they say. He really doesn’t fuck anyone twice. Except… if the rumors are to be believed, he has regularly been seen with the same guy for more than a year now.

There is a stack of photographs in his lap, and more spread out around him, when I return with his drink. Hot men stare at me as he, clearly irritated, ruffles through the photos. Or at least, I think they're hot. From the scowl on his face, I'd say he definitely disagrees.

He knocks the whiskey back without a word, and I give up all hope of my ass getting first class service from Brian's cock tonight, which really is a shame.

I pick up the empty glass, ask whether he wants another, and to my surprise, he shakes his head. This is not the Brian Kinney I've heard about. He doesn't want to fuck, and now he isn't drinking either? 

I've just started walking to the galley when a low 'What the fuck?' behind me makes me turn back to Brian.

"Everything all right?" My question seems to startle him, and he stares at me for a moment before gathering the strewn photographs.

"Everything's... fine," he finally answers. His voice is soft, and sounds almost wistful. The photos are by now neatly bundled together, but he keeps tapping the bottom edges on his knee in a slow rhythm, staring at them.

I hesitate. From the way his jaw muscles are knotting, I'm expecting him to change his mind any second and ask me for a bottle of Beam, no glass, but he doesn't say anything else. Doesn't look up again either. 

_Ooookay_. I shrug and leave.

Brian's reading light is one of the few that remains on when we turn off the cabin lights later, and I walk over to make sure he has everything he needs. The photographs have disappeared, except for one which is laying face down in his lap. He curtly asks for another Beam, and has turned the photo right side up by the time I return. His head is bowed, fingertips skimming over the face of... well, well, well. If it isn't my young Mr. Taylor from a few days ago. In the photograph, Brian is standing behind him, his arms wrapped around the boy with a devilish grin as he bites his earlobe. It's a beautiful photo, happy and playful, of an extraordinarily handsome couple.

So this is what Brian Kinney in love looks like.  
\---

**Sunday night  
Air Liberty 042  
Burlington, VT to Pittsburgh, PA**

_Dijon’s PoV_

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Kinney.” I wink at Brian’s beautiful companion, who blushes delightfully. “Mr. Taylor.”

“Mustard,” Brian replies, sounding amused. He appears to be friendly and relaxed, but I have no doubt his amiable disposition isn’t because of the irony behind my overly formal address to someone who has seen me beg for his cock. 

He lays his palm against Justin flushed cheek and runs a thumb over the full lower lip. It's clear he has forgotten all about me, or where they are. Justin’s hand immediately reaches up to cover Brian’s as he smiles up at him with unabashed adoration, and I can't help but gawk. 

I've heard it said happiness, and love, are the sure cure against growing old prematurely. It can make one look years younger. But instead, a blissful Justin appears older somehow… It’s not a physical change from when I’ve last seen him, not a sudden appearance of lines and wrinkles. Rather, it’s the absence of the childlike pout and sullenness from the other day. No more sadness and despondency. He seems more mature, all grown up, and definitely doesn’t look like a teenager anymore.

“Had a good trip?” I can’t keep from asking as I hang up their coats. “Vermont is beautiful this time of the year.”

Brian shrugs with a sly grin at Justin. “The weather was for shit."

I have to laugh at the implied ‘we didn’t do anything but fuck,’ and taking their bags, I indicate for them to walk in front of me to their seats. They know where 1A and 1B are, so it’s not like they need me to lead them… Watching young Mr. Taylor’s ass has nothing to do with it. Their hands brush when they move past each other, and my amazement grows. The small gesture is more than just ‘you’re fucking hot and I want to be in your ass.’ There’s something... Heaven forbid the word ‘gentle’ be used to describe Brian Kinney.

I store their hand-luggage and turn back to offer them something to drink. Justin is sitting by the window, and the arm rest between them has been pushed back between the seats (I’m guessing by an impatient Brian). I give up on getting their attention when they still don’t disentangle long enough to answer after I’ve asked for a second time.

Boarding is almost completed, and I should see to my other three passengers, but I can’t help watching them for just a moment longer. Brian’s holding Justin by the back of his head, fingers slowly tangling in the blond hair, while Justin’s hand is playing underneath Brian’s shirt. They’re kissing, eyes closed, Brian’s tongue visible every so often when he sweeps it between Justin’s lips. Fuck, they’re hot. It might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, even though they’re fully clothed and only kissing. But just imagine, if they start out like this, what it must be like when they fuck.

They’re both breathing hard when they eventually break apart, and Justin laughs when Brian nudges his nose. Blue eyes unexpectedly turn my way, but I don’t do anything to hide my interest. He gives me the most beautiful smile, before elbowing Brian in the ribs and pointing up at me.

I get one of Brian’s famous cocked eyebrows, indicating he doesn’t appreciate being interrupted, and again I can’t help but feel disappointed at his lack of interest. It must be fabulous to get fucked by these two. Brian’s standards are very well-known. He’s not interested in anything less than 9 inches, which means Justin must be… fucking fabulous. Jesus.

“Beam and…” He looks back at Justin, who nods. “Two. Double.”

_“Coming_ right _up_ … _Sir_.” Hey, I’m a horny, gay guy, about to be on the same plane for four hours with Pittsburgh’s hottest couple. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t offer them my ass one more time. Besides, I also have a reputation to uphold. It’s not often I take ‘no’ for an answer.

Throughout the course of the night, I find myself passing row 1 much more than I usually do, since there is no doubt in my mind that they are not going to stick to kissing only, and I don’t want to miss the show if they do decide to get into one another’s pants.

It’s not the same as seeing Justin’s cock... hard, naked, in Brian’s hand... fingers curled around the head, as Brian jerks him off... but the movement in Justin’s lap, under the blanket, especially since it’s barely visible in the dark, is still fucking hot. Both times.

I continue to keep a close eye on them, but two hours later Justin has still not returned the favor. By now, Brian must be ready to explode. However, even if Justin does turn his attention to Brian’s dick, I can’t imagine him being happy with just a hand job. Not when such a hot ass is sitting right there next to him.

Looks like I do have something special onboard to offer Mr. Taylor after all, and it’s sure to make him feel even better than he already does. As will Brian.

“Sir?” I keep my voice low so as not to disturb any of my other passengers, even though they’re seated far to the back, and were all asleep last time I checked. Brian and Justin look up simultaneously. “The bathroom is this way.”


End file.
